


I’ll dream of you

by oathkceper



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, F/M, S8E3, So much angst, alternative ending, bro i’m so sorry, i wrote this as a coping mechanism and it has done nothing at all to help me cope, it’s just enhanced my pain and suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-04-23 14:05:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19152556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oathkceper/pseuds/oathkceper
Summary: Slowly, unsurely, painfully, her eyes moved onto him. They seemed dull, and the mere thought had Jaime’s heart jumping into his throat.They had never seemed dull before.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So sorry.

Jaime tried not to blame himself for being unable to catch Brienne as she fell seconds after the dead, for he thought her one of them as his eyes were fixated on the unholy mass of them in front of the three, which would have been their demise had they not fallen when they did.

 

They had been fighting for hours, and had Jaime been able to see the sky above them behind the wall of dead which threw themselves on him whenever the opportunity was given, he would have thought they had fought through a day and night cycle. The screams of dying soldiers echoed in his ears like church bells, the smell of rotting flesh and withering souls curling around his throat with the intention of boiling the bile he found himself struggling to keep down. Jaime had not stopped fighting, had not given into the pain of his injuries and instead had masked them behind ferocious movements that he felt now in the tissue of his weakened bones. Every cut, every bruise he felt burning into his flesh in the same way those hauntingly blue eyes had burned into his memory for sleepless nights to come.

 

But now, he heard nothing. Not the agonising cries of wounded men, nor the slice of skin across a blade. He couldn’t even hear his own breathing despite his lungs desperately clawing onto each gasp of air they could to keep his body upright.

 

In the silence that fell upon Winterfell, the

heavy crash of Brienne’s armour on the blood covered stone floor was louder to him than the thousands of wights screaming at him only minutes prior. Oathkeeper fell from her grasp, the high-pitched scrape of the Valyrian steel sword on the ground sending a bolt down his spine that jolted him back into the reality of the situation. Podrick was the first by her side because of the delay in his actions, Jaime could hardly control his body enough to drop down beside her fast enough.

 

“Brienne!” Her name fell from his lips like a prayer, one that came out in a voice that was unfamiliar to him. It was gravelly and raw and he could feel the ache of his throat straining to get words out at all, but most of all, worry was evident beneath the rough linings of his tone at the sight of the newly appointed knight on the stone floor.

 

Brienne had never been conventionally beautiful, not with her strong and long limbs, her angular features, her wide shoulders and overall height, but in that moment, she had never seemed more fragile or small. Though a tattered blanket of blood shielded her face from far sight, Jaime could see her unusually pale skin glistening through the cracks and the tracks created by droplets of sweat that fell down from the top of her head. Her lips were parted, her gasps for air sounded almost as desperate as the heartbreaking sight of her ocean eyes searching for something other than the dead to latch onto.

 

“Brienne,” Jaime said, softer this time, trying to ignore the quiver in his voice. “Brienne, look at me.”

 

Slowly, unsurely, painfully, her eyes moved onto him. They seemed dull, and the mere thought had Jaime’s heart jumping into his throat.

 

They had never seemed dull before.

 

“My lady, stay still, i’m going to fetch a maester,” Jaime was glad to hear Pods voice, mostly because he now knew he was not the only one worried to bear sickness about the state of their Lady Knight. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, just keep your eyes open.”

 

Jaime could not watch as Podrick ran off, the limp in his leg carrying him at a slower pace than he wanted, but the worry spurred him on despite the pain. Jaime could look nowhere other than Brienne, his frantic eyes searching over her body for any wound, anything that would indicate her chances of breathing in tomorrow’s air.

 

“Ser Jaime,” She croaked out, her pupils as wide and as black as the night sky above them, the usual blueness seeping away as fast as the blood at her stomach. She had no idea of the pain her body was coping with, she hadn’t even felt herself being impaled on the end of that rusty old sword a split second before the whole army of dead fell down. Shock had taken over her system to reduce the pain, but now she only felt the excruciating worry for her own life in the pits of her stomach, rather than the agonising pain of her injury.“Am I okay? Am I... am I going to-“

 

“No,” Jaime interjected immediately, shaking his head furiously, his hand stretching out to where he spotted crimson blood leaking from under her armour. “You’re okay.”

 

She definitely wasn’t, and lying to her was the most regretful thing he could think of besides his almost blinding panic.

 

“Where’s Pod? Is he okay? Are you okay?” Her voice was growing smaller, weaker too, but despite himself, Jaime smiled. Brienne was always thinking of others first, putting them before herself. He couldn’t be more proud of her for that.

 

“Pod had gone to get a maester, he will be back soon. He’s perfectly well, I too.” He promised, his right arm sliding shakily underneath the ever lightening woman with how much blood she was losing to lift her up against his chest. A sharp cry of pain followed after from Brienne as she was moved, the shock of it not only causing Jaime to flinch, but her too. “I’m sorry, so sorry.” He whispered into her hair.

 

“Im not okay.” Brienne realised aloud, her new position against him practically forcing her to look down at her bloodied body. Tilting her head back onto his shoulder, Jaime swore he felt his own blood turn into ice when they eyes met. Gone was the fear in Brienne’s, but it was now replaced with calmness.

 

Acceptance of her fate.

 

Gods, no.

 

“Brienne, keep looking at me.” He pleaded, tears beginning to pool so that his vision of her face was nothing more than a blur. He willed himself not to let his emotions loose, he hadn’t cried in years, he would not let her be burden to his own weakness in a time of her own.

 

“Ser Jaime-“

 

“Don’t close your eyes. Gods, you have such astonishing eyes, wench.” A smile quirked at his quivering lips, having to swallow down the sob that threatened to arise with it. He had seen Tarth briefly whilst on his trip to Dorne, and although he may not be able to experience the isle fully for its beauty in his lifetime, he will live knowing that he was able to see its true vibrancy and grace in Brienne’s eyes.

 

“Jaime,” She whispered.

 

Jaime. His name was Jaime. Never before had it seemed so meaningful; so honourable.

 

“Brienne.” He breathed, the thumb of her weak left hand catching the silent tear as it trailed down his cheek upon placing it there with the echoes of strength she had left. He leant into it, regretting that he had never known that he fit into such a small embrace infinitely better than the whole embrace of Cersei’s body earlier.

 

“You are a good man.” A sob ripped from his chest.

 

The tears flowing down Brienne’s cheeks now cleared her skin of the blood that covered it, her freckles shining on her pale skin brighter than the now dull stars above their heads.

 

“Don’t close your eyes.” He repeated, bending his down to touch their foreheads together, making it impossible to tell which tears belonged to whom. “Please, don’t close your eyes. I cant be a good man without you, I can’t. You are the reason I came here in the first place, the reason I am alive, the reason I realised I could be a good man. You are everything I’ve ever wanted to be. You are the reason. You can’t leave me now.”

 

The almost limp thumb stroking the blood away from his cheek quivered at the sound of the crack in his voice.

 

“You are a good man, Jaime Lannister,” She repeated with as much determination she could muster. “With or without me, you are a good man.”

 

Yet another cry tore from him. Even his father had never uttered such words to him before.

 

“My Lady,” He stuttered, dragging her body as close as he could to his own, desperate to hold her body and life together in his own arms. “Ser Brienne of Tarth, will you allow me a kiss?”

 

Instead of answering - for she found she no longer could - she brought his face down to hers with the hand on his cheek that dropped soon afterwards, the blood pouring out of her taking her life with it. Tentatively, Jaime bent and captured her cold lips with his own, the tender caress of their mouths spreading one final burst of warmth throughout her body. Likely the last thing she would ever feel besides her everlasting love for the man who’s arms she was cradled in. Just as she had at Harrenhal.

 

Just as she saw it in her dreams.

 

“You have lived so bravely,” He whispered, their lips continuing to brush as he took one last look into the eyes he had fallen so deeply in love with. “And I have loved you so truly, just as you have me.”

 

“Tell Pod that he fought bravely, and tell Sansa I am sorry I have failed her.”

 

“You have failed nobody. You have made everybody here as proud as the Seven themselves.” Cupping her cheek, he captured her tears which soaked into his palm. Her eyes continued to flutter. His soul continued to crumble.

 

“Jaime,” One of her last breaths was spent on his name. He had never felt more honoured. “I am so proud of you.”

 

Jaime sobbed sharply. “I’ll dream of you.”

 

“And I you.”

 

Brienne’s astonishing eyes closed, taking his withered heart with her. Openly, he cried into her hair, clutching her limp body as tight as a one handed man could.

 

He was apart of her last heartbeat, of her last breath, and she would be apart of his every heartbeat and every breath until the day he joined her again.

 

Winterfell remained silent as Jaime wept for the love he had lost, the echoes of his shattering cries resonating in the ears of all those who were forced to listen.

 

Jaime Lannister truly did die in the arms of the woman he loved that night.


	2. Chapter 2

Originally, Jaime had refused to attend the funeral for all of those who had died in battle. Not because he did not care, or even because he did not know all of them, but because he knew only one of them, and that one person was the only ray of hope in his miserable existence.

 

Now all he saw was grey.

 

The silver hairs that speckled his beard and the beginnings of his hair at his ears once glittered in the morning light, the handsome lion that lay within him still able to make women around him swoon, but now the colour had faded into a dull grey that aged him more than he had seemed previously.

 

He had caught a reflection of himself in the hot springs beneath Winterfell a few nights ago, his blank expression staring back at him with hauntingly grey, sunken eyes. He could have sworn that they were once green, as bright as the lush grass on Tarth, and as beautiful as Cersei’s. But even her eyes could not compare to the astonishing deep blue oceans that crashed against the pupils in the eyes of the woman he had lost.

 

Brienne of Tarth did not deserve the fate she had been given by the Gods. She did not deserve to die covered in the blood of the dead, surrounded by the smell of rotting corpses, the sound of Jaime’s sobs ringing in her ears, or even in the embrace of the dishonoured man. But she had, and Jaime was selfishly glad she had passed into the heavens whilst she rested in his arms. Where she had belonged all along.

 

She had fought to the very end, fought for the lives of innocents she had never met. She had given her life so others could live theirs in peace, and she had done it with the nobility and honour that Jaime could only ever wish to possess. He could not have been more proud of her achievements, but she had lived such a short life, if she had ever even lived at all.

 

Jaime had known little of her childhood, of the turmoils she had faced, but in his grief Podrick had reminisced on the memories he and Brienne had shared, including the terrible words and torments she faced as a young girl. Even when she left Tarth, she was faced by war and enemies and cruel taunts, she had not had time to live as one should. Being almost two decades her senior, Jaime wished he could trade all of the years he did not deserve to give her more. A better chance. A future, with or without him in it.

 

But he loved her too much to trade their places, for he would rather he lived through the pain of missing her than for Brienne to live through the pain of missing him. Despite the memory of her death looming over his every thought, dream and nightmare, he would rather her be at peace in a place without war than at distress in a world which only knew war.

 

Jaime had only been convinced to attend the funeral by Podrick. Sometimes he forgot that he wasn’t the only one to feel the heavy impact of Brienne’s death, and he had taken pity on the young lad who had struggled to keep his tears at bay when the two of them lifted Brienne’s lifeless body off the stone cold ground to place her on the wooden crates set out for those dead.

 

 _She_ _had_ _been_ _so_ _cold_.

 

So cold that Jaime recoiled upon touching her grey flesh. So cold it burnt him.

 

Podrick had sobbed into his hand at the sight of his dearest friend lay there without the ability to speak with her again. Jaime had placed a hand on his shoulder, and together they had let their tears fall in unison for the woman they both so truly loved, yet in completely different ways.

 

After the bodies had been lay out, Jaime had turned to leave, unable to bring himself to see Brienne’s body lay for much longer without bile raising in his throat. However, Podrick had grabbed his golden hand in his and shook his head wordlessly.

 

‘ _Stay_.’ He seemed to plead silently. ‘ _Stay_ _with_ _her_.’

 

Jaime had stood beside him then, wordlessly answering his pleas.

 

Oathkeeper was held steadily in his shaking hand by his side. He had not left it out of his sight since Brienne had dropped it seconds before she fell. He could still hear the clatter of it on the stone floor. Jaime had cleaned it once that night, three times the next morning, four times the next night, and several more on this day alone. He had wept, the tears that dropped onto the steel only prompting him to clean the sword fully once again, not wanting the honoured weapon to be infected by his own dishonour.

 

He wanted to close his eyes as he watched Sansa Stark walk over to the wooden pallet Brienne lay on, along with three other commanders who he had not known the names off. The tears in her eyes as she watched over her protector only spurring Jaime to shut out the world in hopes of being woken only in the seven heavens with Brienne.

 

“Ser Jaime,” He heard distantly. For a moment he thought it Brienne, and the blood rushed from his face, but his head was quick to reprimand his heart and remind him it was impossible. He was still breathing, Brienne was not.

 

When he opened his eyes, he would have been shocked to see Sansa stood in front of him had he been capable of feeling anything but sorrow.

 

“Lady Stark?” He managed. Gods, his voice was hoarse. Rough, raw and yet so soft.

 

Sansa handed over the torch held in her trembling hands, which were red from the cold. “She is yours to burn.”

 

Such simple words, such a heavy impact.

 

Jaime blinked once in confusion, twice in understanding, and then three times to hold back the tears pooling in his eyes.

 

Burning Brienne. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t. But even as he told himself he could not, that he was sure to break down for the whole of Winterfell to see or throw himself into the fire to join her side, he felt his hand take the torch from Sansa’s hand with some guidance from Podrick and his legs walk him over to Brienne’s body.

 

She looked so young. She _was_ so young.

 

Her face held usually the same expression, stoic yet soft, firm but kind. It was her brilliant eyes that were given the job of conveying what she was feeling, and most of the time she was able to conceal her emotions, but over the years Jaime was able to tell what amused her and what upset her just with one swift gaze into her soul. But now, as she lay, she looked like stone. Her skin was the colour of rock, the only evidence that a life had habituated in her body being the few cuts on her freckles skin.

 

Gods, Jaime had never noticed she had freckles on her face.

 

They were speckled over her nose, across her cheekbones and there was even a little patch above her left eyebrow. With her skin so dull, the freckles stood out like stars in the darkened sky that was now his life.

 

She had smiled the most vibrant smile when he had knighted her only two nights ago, and that smile had been the very god sent sign he needed to realise he loved her. This woman that had saved his life as many times and he had saved hers. They were bound together by two half’s of the same sword, and by their silent oaths to saving one another’s lives. Even in the glow of the firelight he had not seen her freckles, but he had seen such admiration in her astonishing eyes. Admiration for him.

 

Now, though, as he counted the speckles he had found on her face, he realised he did not truly know all about her, yet he loved her truly. He loved her laugh; loud and bashful, one that he had the pleasure of hearing at his own expense many years ago. He remembered it clearly now, and though he tried not to, he had to smile sadly at the memory.

 

He had pushed out of the boat he and Brienne had been rowing in for annoying her so, and so part of him knew he deserved it as he was searching for a reaction, but this was a bit too cruel. 

 

However, when he finally managed to latch onto the side of the boat to keep himself up, he caught onto the god awful sound emitting from the inside of the boat. A loud, obnoxious heave of a laugh that was coming out of his captors open mouth. It truly was a horrid noise, but the redness of her cheeks and the tears leaking from the corner of his eyes making her twice broken nose an ugly blotchy shade was even worse.

 

Even so, Jaime couldn’t help his amused smile. He even had to hide his own laugh with a cough as he floated in the water.

 

Jaime hadn’t heard her laugh since. Not truly. She had giggled on the night of her knighting, the incident excitement of her new title rising the girlish sound in her throat when all of those around her clapped for her, but she had not laughed.

 

Had she laughed with Podrick? Had she laughed at all since that day with him? Jaime hoped she had, hoped she had been happy. But as selfish as it was, he wished she would have saved that happiness for him to see, to hear, so he could admire that redness in her cheeks and the leaking joyous tears from her eyes for the beauty it really did behold.

 

Jaime’s smile soon dropped. Her happiness had come to an end once and for all, and now he was staring at the face of the woman that had given him such happiness in the few days he had been in Winterfell that made all other spouts of happiness before that seem unimportant.

 

“ _Brienne_.” He said softly, the breathiness off it carrying away in the soft breeze around him.

 

“Brienne. I’ve been dreaming of you.” He whispered to her as of expecting those astonishing blue eyes of hers to open for him once more. Even her name proved enough for his resolve to crack. How he wished he could hear her voice, to feel the warm touch of her lips against his own once more.

 

That kiss they had shared seconds before her death had burnt itself onto his lips. Every time he touched the soft flesh he could only feel her cold, chapped, bloodied mouth, caressing his so tenderly. Weakly. The touch of any others lips would only take that feeling away from him, and he swore to never let another woman lay her mouth on his, especially not that of Cersei’s.

 

The kiss had been an impulsive decision, one that he had not thought over before it happened, but he was glad it had. At least she had died with the knowledge she was loved in a way she never thought she could be, or at least he hoped.

 

Looking down at the sword by his side in hopes of being able to hold off his tears for a little while. He had stared at Brienne long enough for his stomach to churn and his heart to sink deeper into the depths of sorrow. “I thought it proper that you carry this with you even into the afterlife.”

 

His hand shook as much as his voice did as he lifted Oathkeeper with his good hand, the torch held within the grasp of his golden one, not wanting to touch such a honoured weapon with the poison of his sisters gift. The golden hand that covered the truth of his severed hand, an injury he suffered - and would again - to save the woman who now lay dead in front of him.

He had failed to protect his love this time though, and there was nothing more hateful than that.

 

Carefully - _tenderly_ \- he lay the sword on Briennes chest, moving her cold, limp hands to lay on the golden hilt of it.

 

 _So_ , _so_ _cold_.

 

“I said that it would always be yours. I meant every word. You’ll remember me when you look at it, won’t you?”

 

Her blond hair blew back in the breeze, and Jaime could pretend for just a moment that the flicker of life on her otherwise grey, motionless body that she was merely sleeping. But as he lowered the burning torch towards the wooden pallets, he had to stop himself from thinking her alive in fear of being too coward to pass her through to the seven.

 

“I hope you can hear this, because you deserve to hear it.” Shaking his head, he swiped a few wisps of bleached hair from her forehead in a lovers caress. “But you will always have my heart. I hope to meet you again in our next lives,” He choked on his own voice. “Maybe then I can give you the honour of a fully lived life, by my side, of course. That is my new dream. My only dream.”

 

Beside him, Jon, Sansa and Daenerys lit their lost friends. Flames burned all around him, yet Jaime could only feel cold.

 

His eyes did not leave her face, his thumb stroking tenderly over her freckles cheek, over the lips which had been the only one to kiss. As he touched them, he felt his own tingle. They were connected, he knew they were, by soul, by heart and by touch.

 

“I am so proud of you, Brienne.” That name. Her name. The only name that meant anything to him; the name belonging to the only person to see him for the man he had always wanted to be see as, and who had seen him for all the good he had done rather than the bad. The only person to ever openly admit to being proud of him. He could never repay her for all that he had done for the goodness of his heart.

 

“I will see you soon. I promise, I will. In my dreams, you still live.”

 

His tears fell in oceans as heavy as the ones that once stormed in her eyes as he bent down and kissed her forehead. His lips lingered for only a second as his hand stroked the side of her face with tender care. He rested their foreheads together, breathed in deeply, collecting all the strength off her that he needed in order to pull away and send her off in the way she deserved, and pulled back.

 

“My Brienne.” He whispered as he allowed the torch to finally touch the wood.

 

The flames consumed her almost entirely after spreading over the expanse of her strong body. The fire lit her face up in warm tones that Jaime swore were sunbeams from the Seven above, and finally - _finally_ \- he could see the happiness on her face. Her lifted features, her young, innocent expression. She looked at peace in the flames, and as they covered to spread across her face, Jaime knew he could live now knowing that she was finally free of her turmoil, that she was at home with the Warrior and continuing to cut down the bad in the world from up above.

 

She would protect him even in death, and Jaime smiled at the thought, his tears falling as fast as they were dried from his skin by the warmth of her phantom caress.

 

His Brienne. His protector. The woman he loved.

 

“Arise, Brienne of Tarth,” He whispered as the smoke of the fire flew upwards to the sky, “A knight of the seven heavens.”


End file.
